


Waters of the Horned God

by ningloreth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Illustrated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 00:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2208810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ningloreth/pseuds/ningloreth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Auror Hermione Granger finds there's much more to her new partner, Draco Malfoy, than meets the eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LJ **dramionelove** fest, 2014. The prompt was:
> 
> _Auror partners Hermione and Draco are assigned a case at an outdoor hot springs resort. Rules require you go into the springs nude. Draco refuses cause he's packing a monster in his pants and doesn't want to be stared at. Hermione doesn't believe he's THAT big and thinks he's just being chicken. He proves it to her._
> 
>  **WARNING Some of the illustrations are NOT WORK SAFE**.
> 
> More notes at the end of chapter 2.

" _Malfoy?_ " Hermione was confused. "You mean _Draco_ Malfoy?"

"Yes," Harry sighed, "of course I mean _Draco_ Malfoy."

"Since when has Draco Malfoy been an Auror?"

"Since five years ago, apparently." He gestured towards a chair; Hermione closed the door behind her, and sat down.

"Seems he was recruited in France," Harry continued. "He moved there after they released him from Azkaban." He shrugged.

"They must be very short of Aurors in France," said Hermione. "Or not too particular... What's he doing back in England, then?"

"Officially, he applied for a transfer because his mother's not well. Unofficially"—Harry shrugged again—"I've not heard anything different. The Ministère de la Magie say he's trustworthy—they employed him as a Hit Wizard."

"Why am I not surprised?" Hermione tried to imagine herself partnered with Draco Malfoy, facing a sticky situation and having to trust him to cover her back. "Why me, Harry?" she asked, wearily.

"Because Susan's on maternity leave, and I can't keep sending you out on your own. And because I know you won't hex him."

"No, you don't."

"Okay; I know you won't hex him without good reason, then. Which is more than I can say for any of the others."

"You mean Ron."

"Yes, I mean Ron." Harry peered at her through his glasses, giving her the little boy lost look that always overrode her better judgement. 

"I honestly don't have anything against Malfoy," she said, at last. "Not any more. I realise he was led astray by his father, and I know he's paid for what he did..." She tried one final, emotional appeal. "But I do need to be able to rely on my partner, Harry."

"Give him a month," Harry replied. "Just one month. Then, if you really can't stand him, I'll do some shuffling—maybe put you with Fuchsia Snarke—" 

He was interrupted by two short, businesslike taps on the door. "That'll be Malfoy now," he said. "I've got a job for the pair of you."

...

"We've had a breakthrough in the Bagshot case," said Harry.

Hermione hadn't, so far, been involved in the Bagshot case, but she did know that Sturgis Bagshot was suspected of running an illegal potions racket, smuggling sex potions from the Far East.

"One of his mules is prepared to talk to us," Harry continued. "But he's nervous."

"That's not surprising," said Hermione; she'd heard that Bagshot's associates had a habit of turning up dead.

"He's staying at the Green Mansions Spa." Harry turned to Malfoy. "D'you know the place?"

"No..."

"It's a playground for the filthy rich."

Hermione glanced at Malfoy, wondering how he'd react to the implication, but his expression was unreadable. "And you want _us_ to talk to him?" she asked. "Why us? Why not Aurors already familiar with the case?"

"Because he thinks Bagshot's got an Auror in his pocket," said Malfoy.

"That's ridiculous!"

"It's just a precaution," said Harry. "The Green Mansions Spa's a public place. People come and go all the time, so no one should notice three strangers meeting up, having drinks, and making idle conversation—but keep your eyes open."

"What's this wizard's name?" asked Malfoy. Hermione saw that he'd produced a notebook and a self-inking quill from somewhere, and was scratching down notes.

"He's pretty much a squib," said Harry. "His name's Patterson—Sligo Patterson..."

 _Malfoy's taller than I expected_ , Hermione thought, surreptitiously giving him the once-over. _Six three, six four? And he's filled out a bit_... though she could see from the way he moved that the extra bulk was nothing but solid muscle.

"What does _he_ want out of this?" Malfoy was asking.

His long, pale hair was pulled back and bound with a cord, though a few elegant, jaw-length strands had been left to hang loose about his face. His Auror robes were immaculate. _He probably has them made to measure in Paris_. 

"Witness protection," Harry was saying. "A new identity and a one-way ticket to somewhere in the South Pacific."

Hermione found herself fixated on the cut of Malfoy's breeches. _There's something odd about the front_ , she thought, _something_...

She frowned. 

_Very odd_.

Malfoy's head jerked round, and he frowned back at her, questioningly. 

Hermione looked away.

"So," said Harry, "any more questions?"

"No," said Malfoy. "Granger?

"No," said Hermione. "And if I should think of anything later, I'm sure the answer'll be in Malfoy's notes."

...

The Green Mansions Spa was set in a deep, sheltered gorge where a natural spring bubbled up from the rocks, its waters warm and coppery, and laden with magic. 

In ancient times, the site had been sacred to the Horned God, and the Romans—identifying the British deity with their own god of fertility and protection—had built a temple to house its waters, imposing classical discipline on the natural grotto. With the coming of Christianity, the temple had been abandoned and, for centuries, had lain in ruins, hidden from Muggle antiquarians and, later, from archaeologists by the local landowners until, bankrupted by the Second Wizarding War, they had been forced to sell the land to a development company, Green Mansions Limited. 

The new owners had turned the springs into a holiday resort, tastefully incorporating the ancient stonework into the modern leisure complex, adding a glass roof, marble-lined pools, and tropical gardens. In the rest of the gorge they'd built a luxurious hotel, with restaurants, boutiques, and all modern conveniences.

It was, as Harry had said, a playground for the wizarding world's filthy rich and famous.

...

Hermione looked out of the wide, curved window that dominated the manager's office. Far below her, the spa's patrons were frolicking in the waterfalls and amongst the ferns, taking their pleasures like nymphs and satyrs in a world that was still young and innocent...

" _Naked_ —" said Malfoy.

"Yes, they are," Hermione agreed, smiling. 

"—are you _crazy_?" (He hadn't been speaking to _her_ ). 

"In the ancient rituals," the manager replied, "supplicants walked into the waters unclothed, as pure as the day they were born, and we require that our guests do the same. In the hotel, you can wear clothes—in fact, we insist you wear clothing in the restaurants and the shops, and we prefer that you wear a swimming costume in the waterside bars. We provide dressing robes for you to wear between the hotel and the springs. But when you enter the waters, you must be naked."

"We are here on official Ministry business, Mr Ogden," said Hermione, dragging herself away from the window.

"That makes no difference, Auror Granger; our rules are strictly enforced." He folded his arms across his chest and continued, stubbornly: "Green Mansions Limited is being most co-operative in this matter, but the Board of Directors is... concerned by your presence here. The springs are sacred, and the _genius loci_ must be treated with respect. We are permitting you to interrogate your informant on the premises, but we require you to observe our rules—no clothing nor magic within the temple."

Hermione glanced at Malfoy; the expression on his face was murderous, but she could think of no reason why the rule should not apply to them and, besides, keeping their clothes on when everybody else was naked could only make them more conspicuous. "Of course..." she conceded.

" _Good_. Now"—the manager held out a room key—"we have put you in suite two-oh-three—separate bedrooms, as requested, with a shared bathroom. Your meals will be charged to your suite and the final bill forwarded to the Ministry. Enjoy your stay." 

...

"What's the matter?" said Hermione. She and Malfoy were on their way down to the second floor in one of the lifts, and Malfoy was twitching like a kneazle on a hot tin roof.

"You need to contact Potter," he said. "Get him to send you another partner."

" _What?_ "

"You need someone else to go into the springs with you."

"Why?" The lift doors opened, and Hermione stepped out.

"Because..." Malfoy followed her. "Because _I_ can't."

"I don't understand... Ah, here we are, two-oh-three." Hermione fitted the key into the lock, turned it, and opened the door. 

The room was an elegant Roman fantasy—light and airy—its white, vaulted ceiling supported on columns of richly-veined marble, its plaster walls painted with panels of _trompe l'oeil_ foliage, its floor decorated with elegant mosaics. At its centre, four Roman-style couches were arranged around a low table to provide a cosy seating area. To the right, a row of round, unglazed arches opened onto a plant-filled balcony; to the left, three panelled doors led, Hermione assumed, to the bedrooms and shared bathroom. 

She turned to Malfoy, smiling. "This is nice!" 

Her new partner looked as though he were about to start punching the walls. 

...

I _Her new partner looked as though he were about to start punching the walls._

...

"Malfoy, what's wrong with you?"

" _I_ can't go into the water naked! Fuck it, I couldn't even go into the water in shorts, without magic!" He slammed the door behind him, walked out onto the balcony and, gripping the rail as though he were trying to throttle the life out of it, took several deep, frustrated breaths.

"It'll be uncomfortable for me as well," said Hermione, "at least, to begin with. But everyone else'll be naked, too, Malfoy, so it's not as though anyone's going to be staring at _you_."

Malfoy made a sound like a fox in a snare.

"What is it?"

"I..." He came back into the room and, when he spoke, his voice was thick, and very quiet: "I have a big cock, okay?"

Hermione laughed out loud. "You and ninety-nine per cent of the male population, if anyone's stupid enough to believe it." She opened the first of the three doors, and found a bedroom. "I'll take this one."

"In my case," he said, following her, "it happens to be true. And if _I_ go down there naked, believe me, _everyone_ will stare."

"Men and their penises!" said Hermione, still laughing. "You're all so convinced you've got something special tucked in your trousers—"

"Look, I'm not going get it out for you—"

"Don't you dare, Malfoy!"

"—but... _Finite Incantatem_."

Hermione tried hard not to look, but she simply couldn't stop herself following the swish of his wand as he dismissed the Glamour Charm he'd been using—she realised now—to hide the bulge in his Auror breeches.

"No, it's not a lethal weapon," he said, with a strange, bitter pride, "no, I'm not 'pleased to see you', and, no, you most certainly can't check if it's real."

"Malfoy! I'd never _dream_ of..." Making a superhuman effort, Hermione raised her eyes and fixed them on his face. "All right," she said, "you've convinced me. You can stay up here. I'll go into the springs alone."

...

In the safety of her bedroom, Hermione stripped naked.

Her mind was filled with embarrassing thoughts: _Not hard?—How big is it when it_ is _hard?—Can a thing that big even_ get _hard?—If it_ does _get hard, does he pass out...?_

And: _God, what would it be like to have something that big_ inside _you? Would_ you _pass out?_

She rushed to the hand basin, turned on the tap, and splashed her face and chest with cold water.

_Pull yourself together, Hermione!_

As she reached for a towel, she caught sight of herself in the mirror—tall and slender, with smallish, high breasts, a narrow waist, curvy hips and a little triangle of brown hair at her crotch.

 _Nothing special about me_ , she thought.

She slipped on a dressing robe and, wrenching open the bedroom door, marched across the sitting room without sparing Malfoy a glance. "I'll go and find Patterson, then," she said.

...

The hotel doors opened automatically when Hermione approached them, and she walked out into an artificial paradise. 

Behind her, tiers of stone balconies—one of them her and Malfoy's—dripped with greenery; overhead, a crinoline of wrought iron and frosted glass held back the weather and filtered the sunlight into slanting shafts; to right and left, marble pavements snaked past tables nestling within the Roman ruins, where patrons—wearing swimming costumes—sat drinking exotic cocktails; and, directly ahead, the sacred springs tumbled spectacularly down the rocks and, flowing through the temple arches, spilled from pool to pool.

Hermione smiled; it was enchanting.

She stepped over a blood red line in the pavement, which—she realised—marked the boundary beyond which magic was forbidden, deposited her dressing robe and slippers in the cloakroom and, naked, took a deep breath and walked—as gracefully as she could manage—to the edge of the nearest pool, and down the steps into the water.

She had to admit that she'd been wrong about the staring; men _and_ women, sitting at the tables and wading in the pools, were quite obviously checking her out, and she could well imagine the sort of attention a man of Malfoy's... proportions would have attracted. 

She sank into the water. It was warm, and felt strange. 

She dived, swam a few strokes underwater, came back to the surface and up onto her feet, shedding diamond-bright drops all about her. 

The water's magic was clinging to her body! The sensation was almost orgasmic! 

_So that's why magic's forbidden within the temple precinct_ , she thought. _It would taint the_ water's _magic_. She glanced around the interlinked pools, noticing couples, threesomes, and—in one place—a moresome, gathered in secluded nooks, surrendering themselves to the spa's aphrodisiac powers and, for some reason, she suddenly thought of Malfoy and, looking up at the hotel balconies, she spotted him, staring down at her.

 _Merlin_ , she thought, resisting an impulse to cover herself with her hands and finding herself waving to him instead.

Malfoy didn't respond.

...

II _For some reason, she suddenly thought of Malfoy._

...

It didn't take her long to find Patterson. He looked exactly like the photograph Harry had shown her—tall, dark and, in a seedy-looking way, handsome—and he was surrounded by a bevy of beautiful witches. 

As she approached him, Hermione used the agreed code words: "I believe we were introduced at the Minister for Magic's party..." 

She held out a hand.

Patterson took it, raised it to his lips, and replied with the counter code: "And you promised me a date, as I recall." He flashed her a smile that was obviously meant to be dazzling. 

_A lothario_ , Hermione thought. _No wonder he wanted to meet in this place._

Patterson dismissed his female companions. "Now," he said, when the women had gone, "we'll be safer if we stand in one of the waterfalls."

"Lead on," Hermione replied, retrieving her hand.

They waded into one of the cascades.

"That's better," he said, stretching out his arms to catch the water on his back and shoulders. "You're Hermione Granger, aren't you? I recognise you from the pictures in the _Daily Prophet_." His eyes kept dropping to her chest, and Hermione got the distinct impression—though she didn't look—that he might be slightly aroused.

_Men!_

"How do you want to do this?" she asked, briskly.

"How do you normally do it?"

"In my office cubicle, with a sheet of parchment and a self-inking quill," she replied. She thought for a moment. "I'll have to memorise everything for now and write it down later. Start by giving me an overview of what you know. I need a clear picture of Bagshot's operation. We can flesh it out with names, dates, times and quantities, later."

"It could take a while."

"We have as long as you need, provided this place is safe."

Patterson shrugged. "No one can overhear us, no one can approach us without us seeing them, no one can conceal a weapon, and the magic in the water screws up curses."

That all made perfect sense but, even as he was saying it, Hermione had the strong feeling that she was being watched...

...

...

Hermione climbed out of the pool, retrieved her dressing robe, and headed back into the hotel. 

Patterson was a slippery customer. His information was vague, and he answered her questions with long, elaborate ramblings that merely repeated what little he'd already told her. Without a partner to share the burden, questioning him was exhausting. 

She crossed the lobby, noticing an ancient wall painting mounted beside the Reception desk. It showed a male figure—presumably what the manager had called the _genius loci_ , the pagan god of the spring—wearing a rather fetching Phrygian cap. He was pulling aside his colourful tunic to expose a monstrous phallus, which he was resting on one pan of a balance scale, weighing it against a sack of gold, and finding the gold—Hermione noticed—significantly wanting.

 _Penises!_ she thought. _You can't get away from them!_

She summoned the lift.

 _It's Priapus_ , she realised, as she was waiting. _The Romans must have identified the original god of this place, the Horned God, Cernunnos, with their god, Priapus_ —though, as far as she was aware, the Horned God had never been depicted with an erection.

 _What was the Roman artist trying to say?_ she wondered.

_Your penis is your fortune?_

Then, as if a painting of an ithyphallic god wasn't bad enough, Hermione found herself picturing Malfoy's breeches...

...

III _Hermione found herself picturing Malfoy's breeches_

...

Back in suite 203, she went straight to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a large pumpkin vodka. "D'you want one?" she called.

Malfoy, still on the balcony, replied, "No—thanks."

Hermione knocked hers back. "Can we discuss what I've found out?"

Through one of the arches, she saw Malfoy turn towards her, smiling, and she was surprised how handsome— _beautiful_ , in fact—and how much friendlier it made him look. "With pleasure," he said.

"Good." Hermione poured herself another drink, carried it out onto the balcony, and sat down on one of the _faux_ marble thrones.

"What's the water like?" he asked.

"Absolutely amazing." She didn't go into details.

"And is Patterson as big a jerk as he looks?"

"Yes—and, yes, I did see you watching me, Malfoy."

"I was watching _out_ for you, Granger—watching your back—and I was trying to be inconspicuous. You shouldn't have waved."

"What could you have done from up here?"

There was a long silence. Then he said, "It's not my fault."

"I know that," said Hermione. "But would it really be impossible—"

"Impossible for me to go down there naked without attracting so much attention it'd probably sabotage our mission? Yes, absolutely. When you're my size, Granger, you get noticed—women get all excited, and men get all aggressive. And the fuss"—he spread his hands, and Hermione wasn't exactly sure what he was trying to tell her, but she kept her eyes averted, just in case—"the fuss gives you a hard-on.

"It'd be a fiasco. Honestly. It'd fuck everything up." He shifted on his seat and—to her horror—Hermione realised that he was trying to make himself more comfortable in his breeches. "Look," he said, "when you're down there in the springs, just stay in my line of sight. I won't let anything happen to you, I swear. I cast a mean long-distance Body-Bind Curse, and I don't believe that any pagan god would be insulted because I was using magic to protect you."

Hermione shook her head. "It's not that, Malfoy; it's the water—its magic's powerful. Apparently, it can distort curses."

Malfoy dismissed her objection with a wave of the hand. "It wouldn't be the first time I've had to get a spell through a magical anomaly."

Hermione remembered he'd been a Hit Wizard for the French Ministry. _And he's trying to back you up_ , she told herself, _like a proper partner_. Smiling, she mouthed, _Okay_.

"Good," he said. "Now tell me what Patterson told you."

"Well..." She took a sip of vodka and let it burn its way down to her stomach. "You were right," she said. "Sturgis Bagshot does have an Auror on his payroll."

"Shit. Who?"

"Patterson's being cagey." She took another sip. "I'll need to work on him—you're right, by the way, about people staring. They do. Even at me—"

"You're a beautiful woman, Granger." 

"Oh. Um, well, thank you," she said, taken aback. "But, um, what I meant was that someone was watching us—Patterson and me— _observing_ us. I kept scanning the pools, and checking the bars, but I couldn't see anyone obvious..."

"Do you think that Bagshot's tame Auror followed us?"

"God! I never even thought of that!" She frowned. "I was thinking that maybe Bagshot'd got someone tailing _Patterson_..." She took another sip of vodka. "But I may just have been imagining things—feeling uncomfortable because I was naked and the water's—well, the water sort of messes with your senses."

"I noticed the effect it has on people." Malfoy sighed. "Did Patterson tell you anything useful?"

"He gave me a quick overview of Bagshot's organisation, but no names, as yet." Her stomach growled and, blushing, she covered it with her hand. "Sorry," she said. "I'm absolutely starving."

"Me too. Get dressed, Granger. We'll go and have dinner in one of the restaurants."

...

There were more phalluses in _Caesar's Triclinium_ —over each table, a crudely-carved relief depicting a disembodied cock and balls had been set into the stone wall. It was obviously a copy of something the developers had found in the temple.

 _Probably something profoundly sacred_ , Hermione thought. She read the Latin inscription: _Hic habitat Felicitas—'Here dwells well-being.'_

 _Hmm_...

"Puts you off your dinner," said Malfoy, grumpily.

Hermione grinned, and a mischievous thought popped into her head. "How's your salmon?" she asked instead.

"Good..." He poked at the pink flesh with his fork. "Look, Granger, there's something I think I ought to tell you before we go any further," he said. "The fact is, I _persuaded_ Potter to make me your partner."

" _What?_ " Hermione was taken aback, though more by Harry's not having been honest with her than by Malfoy's confession. "Why?"

"Because I wanted to prove myself to him, and that meant working with either you or Weasley, and I thought you'd be more fair-minded... Potter was originally going to partner me with McLaggen," he added, "but I managed to talk him out of that." 

He toyed with his fish. "And then _this_ "—he jerked his head towards the stone phallus—"crap happens. You just can't win, can you?

"No, you can't," said Hermione, sympathetically. "But, if it's any consolation, Malfoy, the French Auror Office gave you glowing references. Harry's got no doubts about you."

Malfoy said nothing for a few moments, but she could see that he was pleased. Then, "What about you?" he asked.

"It's a bit early to tell," she replied, honestly, "but I think we'll make a good team."

Malfoy smiled. "Of course," he said, still prodding his salmon, "McClaggen would have been a lot easier on the eye."

Hermione grinned at him. "Are you going to have dessert?"

"No. But don't let that stop _you_. I love watching a woman enjoy chocolate mousse."

...

IV _"Of course, McLaggen would have been a lot easier on the eye."_

...

Back at the suite, Hermione went straight to her bedroom to slip off her heels.

When she came back to the sitting room, she found Malfoy lounging on one of the couches—looking the most relaxed and happy she'd seen him since they'd been partnered up—but, as she walked towards him, smiling, she caught a glimpse of his groin, and couldn't tear her eyes away...

"It's hot," said Malfoy.

"I'm sorry?"

"The Glamour Charm. It gets unbearably hot after a while."

"I see..."

"Do you want me to cast it again?"

"No!" Hermione blushed. "No, of course not; that wouldn't be fair on you." She pulled herself together, walked over to the drinks cabinet, and poured herself a large pumpkin vodka. "Do you want one?"

"No."

Hermione downed hers in three swallows. "I need to write up what Patterson told me," she said, "before I forget the details, and I'd be grateful if you'd go over it with me and help me prepare an interrogation strategy for tomorrow." She poured herself another double.

"Of course. Glad to." Then he added, softly: "Do you always drink so much, Granger?"

Hermione set her glass on the coffee table and took a seat opposite him. "What do you mean?" She summoned parchment and a self-inking quill.

"I mean, you've already had about six units of vodka and two of wine, which is more than three times the maximum a woman should drink in one day."

"What do _you_ know about units?"

"My mother's had... a few problems, and I've done some reading. The Muggle units system's helpful."

"Well... No," she admitted, eyeing her glass, "I don't usually drink very much at all. Just the odd Mojito when I'm on holiday."

"It's me, isn't it?" he said. His posture, Hermione noticed, had changed—he'd swung his legs to the side so that his groin was hidden from her, and he was sitting more upright. He looked tense. "I mean," he added, "you have a new partner, and you don't know if—" 

"I know I can trust you—"

"—if you can _rely_ on me, Granger; you don't know if you can rely on me, because I'm sitting up here, like a spare part, whilst you..." 

Hermione ran a hand over her brow. Surprisingly, she _liked_ this grown up Malfoy—she'd certainly enjoyed having dinner with a man who could talk about things other than work and Quidditch—but he was right to think that he also made her uncomfortable, and not merely for the reasons he was suggesting.

She looked up at him. "Can we just go over Patterson's evidence?"

...

...

The following morning, Hermione came into the sitting room to find that Malfoy had already ordered breakfast, and had had it laid out on the stone table on the balcony.

As she took her seat, he looked up from his _Daily Prophet_ , and pointed to a glass of brownish sludge.

"What's this?" she asked.

"A Malfoy family remedy—raw egg yolk, fermented pumpkin juice, salt, and a dash of Pepper-up Potion. For your head."

Hermione sniffed the concoction and shuddered. "Thank you," she said, "but I never get hangovers." _And I don't need you fussing over me_ , she thought, though she had to admit—as she leaned over and nicked the _Arts_ section—that it felt nice to be having breakfast together, perusing the newspaper companionably, like an old married couple...

"When are you meeting with Patterson?" Malfoy asked, buttering some toast.

"We didn't arrange a time. I think he's pretty much a permanent fixture down there." Hermione lifted the lid of one of the serving dishes. "Mmm, scrambled eggs!"

"Well, don't let the session go on too long. You don't want to turn yourself into a very pale prune."

"Thanks for the advice!"

"D'you think you could persuade him to come up here?" he asked, seriously.

Hermione considered the question. "He likes the water," she said. "It..." She hesitated, fearing it would be cruel to talk about the water's aphrodisiac properties when Malfoy was never going experience them.

"Yes," he replied. "As I said before, I've noticed its effect on people."

"Then you'll know why I think he'll refuse."

"It'll be hard on _you_."

"Tell me about it." 

"I'll be up here, keeping an eye on you, Granger. Remember to stay in my line of sight. Don't let Patterson lure you into a corner."

"Don't worry," said Hermione, smiling. "There's no way I'll be snogging Slime-o Patterson behind the broom sheds." 

...

Patterson was waiting for her under the waterfall.

Hermione worked through the interrogation plan she'd devised with Malfoy, slowly, painstakingly, coaxing his evidence out of him as the magical waters teased her body.

Eventually, she got him to admit that he travelled to Hong Kong once a month on legitimate business, that Bagshot—being in possession of certain incriminating photographs—had blackmailed him into smuggling potions, that he collected them from the same Chinese 'wholesaler' every trip, and that he wrapped them up in Sealing Charms and swallowed them. 

"Isn't that dangerous?" said Hermione. "Relying on Sealing Charms? I mean, I thought you were..."

"What? A _squib_? I may not have gone to Hogwarts, but I can still manage a Sealing Charm."

"What potions are we talking about, exactly?"

"Well..." Patterson looked cagey. 

Hermione folded her arms across her chest, and waited.

"There's Draught of Living Rock," he admitted, at last. "And you needn't look so smug—you women are the ones who complain when a man can't get it up. Rock'll make an old man as hard as granite, and keep a young man stiff all night and most of the next day, if he takes enough—"

"That is so dangerous," said Hermione. "A prolonged erection can damage the blood vessels, to say nothing of the strain it puts on the heart."

"Then there's _Intumesgro_ ," said Patterson, ignoring her, "which makes a man grow up to twice his normal size."

"Well, anything will make a man _up to_ twice the size..." Hermione's eyes narrowed. "How'd it be possible, though, for a penis to grow twice as big, without something getting torn?"

"It's magic," he replied, glibly. "And it works. Muggles go crazy for it."

"Bagshot sells his poisons to _Muggles_?"

"Of course."

"Then I'll want a list of his Muggle dealers—next time." She was already having trouble memorising some of the stuff they'd covered. "Are there any more potions?"

"There's _Faminentia_ —a single drop has women gagging for it—"

"So it's a date rape potion?"

"—and _Virulentium_ does the same for men."

"I'll bet that's a big seller."

"It is with men who play for the other Quidditch team."

Hermione shook her head in despair. "Anything else?"

"Yes. I've saved the best till last: Culmenex Potion." He paused dramatically.

"So?" Hermione prompted. "What does that do?"

"Makes you come like you're being _Crucio_ 'd."

"Have you ever been _Crucio_ 'd?"

Patterson shrugged.

"I seriously doubt it's anything _like_ being _Crucio_ 'd," she said.

"Well, it makes you come so hard, you can literally cripple yourself if you've got a bad back."

"And what if you've got a weak heart? God!" Hermione raked her fingers through her wet hair. "Do you have samples of all of these... things?" The sooner she showed them to Harry, and Harry got them off the street, the better! 

She looked at Patterson expectantly, but his smarmy face had turned hard.

"Come on," she persisted. "You obviously use them yourself, so I'm guessing you have a personal stash?"

"Just _Intumesgro_ and Culmenex," he admitted, at last. "I can let you have a vial of Culmenex—enough for three doses—for sixty Galleons, and five pastilles of _Intumesgro_ for two hundred."

"You are joking? You think the Ministry's going to pay for them?"

"How do I know they're for the Ministry? Could be your blond boyfriend's inadequate."

Hermione realised that her mouth was open, and closed it immediately. "Of course they're for the Ministry," she said, angrily. Patterson shrugged again, which was extremely annoying—and the bloody aphrodisiac water was making everything ten times worse! "All right," she snapped. She needed those samples! "I'll pay."

"Good," said Patterson. 

Hermione watched him wade off in the direction of the hotel. 

After a few yards, he stopped, and looked back at her over his shoulder. "Well? Are you coming or what?"

...

Hermione stared at the tiny ampoule—labelled _Cul-_ MEN _-XXX_ —and the little gauze bag of blue pastilles in her hand, and shuddered. Patterson's sitting room had stunk of heavy cologne failing to mask an acrid male tang. She would need to scrub herself with wire wool to feel clean again... 

She stepped out of the lift.

 _And_ , she thought, _I'm two hundred and sixty Galleons out of pocket for my pains. I just hope Harry'll authorise a refund_.

She opened the door to suite 203—

"Where the fuck have you been?!"

Malfoy was standing in the middle of the sitting room, surrounded by smashed glass, broken ornaments, and overturned furniture. He was visibly shaking. "By the time I got down to the lobby you'd disappeared. How'm I supposed to back you up when I don't even know where you are? The Receptionist wouldn't tell me Patterson's suite number, even when I showed her my badge!"

 _And you were so frustrated_ , thought Hermione, _you came back here, lost control of your magic, and zapped everything in the room_. She was glad she'd not been there to witness it; she was sure the only reason debris wasn't raining down on her now was that there was nothing left for Malfoy to smash.

...

V _Malfoy had lost control of his magic..._

...

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to calm him down. "I'm so used to working on my own, I wasn't thinking—it'll take me a while to get the hang of having a partner again, but I will, I promise... I wasn't in any danger. Honestly—"

"You don't know that, Granger! The man's a shit. I can see that from up here."

"But I persuaded him to sell me some of the potions Bagshot's supplying." She showed him the ampoule and the gauze bag. "I want to get them to Harry—"

"But you should have... You... You shouldn't..." He brought a hand up to his forehead. "Oh, _fuck_!" Hermione could see that his rogue magic had wiped him out; he'd run out of adrenalin and was coming down fast. "I'm sorry..." He glanced round the room, obviously looking for somewhere to sit, but all the furniture was trashed. "Just show me what you've got," he said, wearily.

Hermione handed him the ampoule. "It's called Culmenex. According to Patterson, it, um... it enhances the male orgasm." 

Malfoy held it up to the light. "And the pastilles?"

"Well..."

Malfoy raised a questioning eyebrow.

"They're supposed to make a man grow to twice his normal size."

Malfoy handed the ampoule back, which was comment enough.

"Look," said Hermione, "you're absolutely shattered. Why don't you go out onto the balcony whilst I get these sent to Harry, and then we can order ourselves some coffee, and you can help me write up today's session?"

To her relief, Malfoy didn't argue. She watched him pad outside and sit down, and then she heard a quiet " _Finite Incantatem_."

She took the potions into her bedroom, sealed them in evidence bags, and labelled them. Then she penned a quick note to Harry, explaining what they were and promising him a proper report later, parcelled everything together, and took it down to Reception where she sent it to the Auror Office via the hotel's Floo connection. 

When she got back to the suite, Malfoy was still sitting on the balcony. She spoke to him, but his only reply was a deep regular breathing that wasn't quite snoring so—smiling to herself—Hermione fetched her wand and set to work on the mess. 

" _Reparo_ ," she said, delicately lifting fragments of iridescent glass from the mosaic floor. 

_Malfoy's obviously living with a colossal rage_ , she thought, watching the glass reassemble itself into an exquisite decanter. _I wonder if it's sexual frustration?_

" _Reparo_ ," she said again, restoring a beautiful Samian ware-style bowl, but the fruit was ruined, and she levitated that into the waste bin, siphoning up the juice.

 _Yes, it must be frustration_.

" _Reparo_ ," she murmured, carefully re-stitching the upholstery on one of the couches.

_I mean, imagine having to judge the right moment to warn a woman that you're the size of a horse. I'll bet most women run a mile!_

_I wonder when he last had sex...?_

An image of Malfoy slowly opening his breeches and freeing a massive erection appeared in her mind's eye—

_Oh, god..._

—and, despite all of her efforts to banish the fantasy, she saw herself fall to her knees before it, grasp it with both hands, bring it to her mouth, and suck it greedily.

Hermione scrambled to her feet, rushed to the bathroom and dowsed herself with cold water.

"How're you ever going to work with him now?" she asked herself in the mirror. "Oh _god_ , Hermione!"

When at last she'd plucked up the courage to go out onto the balcony, Malfoy was still asleep, slumped on his _faux_ marble throne.

Hermione sat down opposite him, and tried to avoid staring at his groin. 

_What makes a big penis so mesmerising?_ she wondered. _Is it just that it always looks erect? Or does a big man actually have better genes?_

_It must feel absolutely..._

_No!_ she thought. _Don't go there! Evolution has seriously screwed up, because a thing that size would hurt like..._

She realised that Malfoy had woken up, and was staring back at her.

...

VI _Malfoy had woken up and was staring back at her._

...

"I'm sorry," she said, blushing.

He shrugged. "I'm used to it."

"Shall I order you some coffee?"

"I'm not an invalid, Granger."

"I know you're not."

"I've _never_ lost it like that before." He rubbed his face. "And I wouldn't have lost it today if it wasn't for that stupid, fucking 'naked' rule, or if I was allowed to use magic to hide it. I'd be down there, in the water, doing my job, questioning Patterson with you and showing you I'm a proper Auror."

"I _know_ you're a proper Auror, Malfoy!" She looked away, biting her lip, trying and failing to think of a way to change the subject... "It's uncomfortable, though, isn't it?" she asked, at last. "The charm you wear?"

"Like lava jockstrap."

 _God! No wonder he gets so angry!_ "That must feel terrible."

Malfoy smiled and, gratefully, Hermione felt some of the tension ease. "Get some cakes," he said. "Florentines. And some of those little chocolate squares with the icing sugar on top."

...

"Tell me Patterson's suite number," said Malfoy, later, when they were waiting for the lift to take them down to the restaurant. "I'll go and have a word with him—persuade him to talk to us up here."

Hermione shook her head, and not just because the words 'word' and 'persuade' had had a hint of quotation marks about them. "I won't lie," she said, "I would much prefer to question him in the dry, and with parchment and a quill to hand, and I would feel a lot happier if you were there with me, but—Malfoy—I don't want you thinking you have to be there to _protect_ me. I can handle myself." The lift arrived and they stepped inside. "And, the thing is—" 

"Ground," said Malfoy.

"—I'm afraid you'll frighten him off."

"Like a bull in a china shop?"

"No! No, it's not that..." She described how difficult and evasive Patterson had become. "Maybe it's just his nature, but I'm wondering if someone's got to him."

"Whoever was watching you?"

"Yes. I don't know for sure, Malfoy, but I'm afraid that, if we're not really careful, he'll dry up altogether."

The lift came to a stop, and its doors opened. 

Hermione stepped out; Malfoy, still inside, had a faraway look in his eyes. "Are you coming?" she asked.

...

"I could easily get used to living like this," said Hermione, gazing round the restaurant.

"All right," said Malfoy, and—after a moment's confusion—she realised that he was conceding defeat on the Patterson question, "but, tonight," he added, "I'm going to teach you something."

"Teach me what, exactly?"

"An immobilising technique we used in the French Office—it's derived from a Korean martial art. It allows you to physically control a perp with minimal effort, just holding him by the wrist. The pain forces him to come up on his toes, so you can steer him wherever you want and, with a little extra pressure, _snap_!"

"Malfoy!"

"It's very easy to learn."

"I dare say it is," said Hermione.

"I'd feel better if you—"

"Well, I don't think _I_ would feel better!"

The waiter brought their food, and they dropped the subject. Malfoy was an ideal dinner companion, eating with his mouth closed and swallowing before he spoke, and his conversation was interesting and included _gaps_ for Hermione to reply in.

A cheer went up at a nearby table—one of the waiters had brought a birthday cake, and a chorus of house-elves was singing _Happy Birthday to You_. Hermione watched the birthday boy blow out his candles. He was about seventeen, pale and aristocratic looking, and his hair was almost as blond as Malfoy's...

"My blond boyfriend," she said, suddenly.

"Sorry?"

"It's something Patterson said. How did he know that you were blond, Malfoy? I don't think he's even seen you. Unless—"

"For a moment there, I thought you were making me an offer."

"God, no, I'd never do that!" Hermione remembered her earlier fantasy, and the thoughts that had provoked it, and, blushing and stammering, she added, "I mean... I—I'd never put you, um, in such an embarrassing position, Malfoy."

"Right..." Malfoy frowned. "What do you mean, embarrassing?"

"Well, I..." Hermione's blush deepened.

Malfoy eyed her, narrowly. "In what way embarrassing, Granger?"

"Um..." She tried to put it as tactfully as possible: "You're, um, you're pretty much celibate, aren't you?"

"What?" Malfoy was astounded. "Why in Merlin's name would you think that?"

"Well"—Hermione squirmed—"it can't be easy to, um"—she gave him a sheepish little shrug—"you know, when you're so... Well, you know... And you get so _angry_ , so I thought it must be, um, pent up, er..." She cleared her throat. " _And_ you're so very touchy about being stared at—"

"By nymphos and wankers, Granger!" he exclaimed. "By people who have no right to be looking! Whilst I'm on the job!"

Several of their fellow diners turned and stared. 

"Look..." He leaned in closer, and spoke softly: "No, it's not all fun and games. Trousers never fit properly—they rub, they chafe, they give you a hard-on—and if you don't hide the bulge with magic everybody gets an eyeful. But I'm an Auror, Granger. Under normal circumstances, I do my job and I do it well, regardless. In the bedroom, I'm _blessed_. I wouldn't lose a single one of my inches to make things easier during the day."

"Well," said Hermione, so quietly it was almost a _thought_ , "I think I'll have a drink now."

...

The rest of the meal was eaten in strained silence but, far from being annoyed with Malfoy, Hermione found herself growing more and more attracted to him, her imagination running riot as the words 'my inches' kept echoing in her head. Physically, she'd begun to feel out of sorts—tense and feverish. Her body was _aching_ 'down there', swollen and throbbing, and there was a hunger inside her...

 _God_ , she thought, crossing her legs and squeezing herself up tight, _it's as though someone's slipped a huge dose of spa water into my glass!_

...

VII _Hermione found herself ogling Malfoy._

...

Back in the lift, she found herself ogling Malfoy.

 _It's all his fault_ , she thought. _If he wasn't so bloody attractive, and so bloody... big, I wouldn't be thinking about him like this, imagining him with an erection, and getting all wet... I'd—_

"What the fuck are you doing?" said Malfoy.

Hermione gasped—whilst her mind had been otherwise occupied, she'd somehow managed to back him into a corner, and her hands had found their way to his belt. 

"I want you," she confessed.

"What?" He grabbed her by the shoulders and, holding her at arm's length, peered into her face. "Fucking hell, Granger!" Hermione couldn't imagine what he was seeing, but she watched his expression turn from surprise, to speculation, to downright lust. "All right," he said, hoarsely. 

Then, clearly as a macho afterthought, he added, "Thought you'd never admit it..."

The lift doors opened and, already devouring each other, they tumbled out, only just making it to their suite before Hermione, losing patience with trying to find his fly buttons through the Glamour Charm, shoved her hands down his waistband and ripped his trousers open.

Malfoy dismissed the charm as they stumbled towards the couches, and—crying, "Wait! _Wait!_ " when Hermione tried to push him down—dropped his trousers.

"Oh my _god_ ," said Hermione.

...

VIII _"Oh my god!" said Hermione._

...


	2. Part 2

She fell to her knees and kissed it, nuzzling it and rubbing her cheek against it, until Malfoy, making some impatient, incoherent protest, grasped it and brought its head to her lips and, just as she had in her fantasy, Hermione took it in her mouth.

It was huge, and hot, and tasted salty and, with both hands curled around its shaft, she sucked it, finding that sensitive place where the foreskin joins the head and stroking it with her tongue, excited by the effect she was having on Malfoy, whose sobbing groans were like a drug to her—

" _Don't stop_ ," he hissed, and then, more desperately, "don't stop, don't stop... _Fuck_ , Granger, don't _stop_!" 

His legs were shaking.

" _Nnnnnnnngh_ ," he sobbed, and Hermione felt him stiffen in her hands. " _Ahhhhhhhh_..." 

His come dribbled into her mouth. 

Hermione swallowed it down, and licked him clean before she let him collapse onto one of the couches. 

" _Merlin-fuck, Granger_ ," he gasped between ragged breaths. " _Merlin-fuck-ing-fuck_..."

His eyes were closed, and there was a blissful smile on his face but, after a moment, he reached out blindly and found Hermione's head, and—although she usually hated anyone's messing with her hair—there was something nice, something _tender_ , about Malfoy's touch.

"Come up here," he said.

Hermione clambered eagerly onto his lap, and straddled his thighs. His penis was still erect between their bodies and, when he gathered her into his arms, she could feel it, nestling beneath her breasts. 

"What d'you want me to do for you?" he asked, kissing her neck. 

His lips were electric and his hands seemed to be touching her very soul, but there was only one thing Hermione wanted now: "I want you inside me."

"You're sure?"

"Yes"—desire had made her brave—"I want to feel _this_ inside me."

"I knew you'd be one of the fearless ones, Granger," he murmured. Then, " _Accio_ salve." 

An opaque glass jar landed in his hand.

"What's that?"

"A handy little sex potion of my own invention." He pulled out the stopper and showed her the thick, creamy substance inside. "It'll make things easier for you."

"You came here _prepared_ for this?"

"Do you go anywhere without a Contraceptive Charm?"

"No..." Hermione watched him give his cock a stroke. "Let _me_ do it for you," she said.

Malfoy handed her the jar.

She dipped her fingers in the salve. It had a lovely, honeyed texture and, when she smoothed it down his full length, it warmed her skin. "What's in it?" she asked.

He sighed. "This and that."

"You could make a fortune with it." She swept her hand upwards; she was enjoying herself.

"I already have... a fortune," he said.

Hermione bent to her task, working in long, rhythmical strokes, every caress exciting her own body as much as his...

"Oh, Merlin," Malfoy moaned, thrusting his cock deeper into her grasp, "I'm going to come _again_ —"

" _No!_ " Hermione stopped abruptly.

"Granger?!" he shrieked. "What...? Oh, fuck!" He grasped his cock and gave it a few comforting strokes. "Fucking _hell_ , woman! You must be the bossiest fucking... prick tease _ever_!" Then—holding it safe against his stomach—he slid down to the floor. "But you're so weirdly fucking sexy, Granger... All right, spread your legs for me." 

Hermione did as she was told, and Malfoy set to work, massaging her belly and her inner thighs, his touch beginning light but gradually growing firmer and firmer as he got closer to her core. Hermione came up on her elbows to watch him, and couldn't take her eyes off his cock, reaching out to her stiffly, like some strange middle limb...

"Oh, Malfoy..." she sighed, and fell back on the couch, her eyes closed. _Why couldn't you be normal? We wouldn't be opening up this huge can of worms if you were_ —"OH!"

He'd slipped a finger—warm and wet with his magical salve—inside her, and was stroking her pussy, round and round, and—" _Ohhhhhh..._ "—it was unbearably beautiful. 

Hermione's back arched in an agony of pleasure...

But she wanted his _cock_! 

She begged him for it and he shushed her, teasing her with his hand, and bribing her with kisses until he had her whimpering like a child. 

Then he curled his finger up inside her and pressed.

"Oh, god, now I need to pee," she sobbed.

"It's all right; just let it go."

"No... Malfoy, I really..."

" _Let it go_."

"I can't..." she wailed.

"Yes, you can," he coaxed, "you _must_ ," and his finger insisted.

Hermione _screamed_ —long and loud and furious—as her body exploded, pushing a shower of glorious, wet heat out of her, leaving her totally emptied, sobbing and shaking, and staring up at Malfoy in amazement. 

_He_ , soaked in her come, looked down at her, triumphantly.

"You," she sobbed, "you... you bastard... Malfoy... _please_ ," though she could no longer remember what it was she was begging for.

Malfoy leaned in, and planted a chaste kiss upon her lips. "Now you're ready for me," he said.

...

...

" _I'm_ up here," said Malfoy.

Hermione, lying between his legs, gave him another long, lingering kiss and then, raising her head, smiled. She was high on sex. "I think I'm in love."

"With my cock?"

"Well... You _are_ blessed."

"Mmm," he said. "D'you want some breakfast?"

"God, yes. I'm absolutely starving." 

She couldn't remember all of the details, but she did know they'd spent the entire night making love—hours of delicious foreplay, followed by intensely sensual sex, followed by... 

_Phallus worship_ , she thought, grinning.

 _And then the whole thing over again_.

 _And again_.

She hadn't had a moment's rest.

...

IX Phallus worship, _Hermione thought, grinning._

...

She rolled onto her back and stretched luxuriously. Malfoy was the best lover she'd ever had, and it wasn't because of his size. _It's the way he touches you_ , she thought; _the way he strokes you and pleasures you, and that thing he does with his finger..._

_God, that thing!_

_His size is just a bonus._

_A mind-blowing bonus!_

"I'll call room service," said Malfoy, "while I still can."

Hermione watched him pad out into the sitting room, her heart fluttering at the sight of his having to hold himself in his hand as he walked. Her body was bruised and sore, but it was a wonderful soreness, and if Malfoy had wanted to make love again, she would have done so eagerly. 

_God_ , she thought, _am I in trouble!_

...

"What are we going to do?" she asked, when she joined him on the balcony.

"About Patterson?" 

The food was already on the table. Malfoy was flicking through the _Prophet_ ; he pulled out the _Arts_ section, and pushed it towards her.

"No, about us." She sat down. "I mean," she said, "if 'us' is more than just a one night stand"—his sudden indifference was disconcerting—"we'll need to tell Harry."

Malfoy laid down his paper and turned to her, his expression deadly serious. "Look Granger," he said, and she could see that she wasn't going to like what he was about to say, "we've had fun, and we can have a lot more if you want, but don't go thinking that this is something it isn't. 

"A big cock's a novelty at first, and women can't get enough of it—you kiss it, you fawn over it, you play with it between fucks. And everything's great, while it lasts. But, sooner or later, you've had your fill—pun intended—you decide that a big cock's too much work, and you go off to find Mr Average.

"There's no point making any long term plans."

"Malfoy! What a cynical thing to say!"

He shrugged. "That's been my experience, Granger."

"Then why... oh _god_ , Malfoy"— _What a mess!_ —"we're _partners_! If you thought there was no future in it, why did you let us cross the line? Why didn't you just tell me to piss off?"

"Because—look at you, Granger," he said. "A man would have to be dead to say no to you! Besides," he added, "if there was ever a woman who _needed_ cock! You were drinking yourself stupid. On the fucking job!"

Hermione glared at him; she was seething. "Well, thank you very much for the mercy shag," she said, getting up from the table. "I thought I _liked_ you, Malfoy. I thought you'd changed. Now I can see you're still the same big, self-centred prick you always were, _pun intended_." She shoved her chair aside. " _I'm_ going to talk to Patterson. _You_ can sit up here and let me do your job for you."

"Granger..." Malfoy reached for her hand. "A bit of... intimacy between partners is never a bad thing."

But Hermione ignored him.

...

The water was annoying. 

The night's lovemaking had ruined any chance Hermione might have had of withstanding its aphrodisiac magic, and—despite how angry he'd made her—she was being tormented by lurid fantasies, of Malfoy's bending her, face down, under a cascade of water, his hands gripping her waist as slowly, surely, he used that massive bloody _thing_ of his—

Shivering, she glanced up at their balcony; Malfoy was leaning over the rail, watching her. 

_For two pins_ , she thought, _I'd cut it off and use it as a broom handle!_ Then, in a mixture of hysteria and embarrassment, she burst out laughing.

Patterson, lounging in the shallows that formed part of one of the poolside bars, spotted her wading towards him and seemed surprised to see her.

"Cocktail?" he asked, waving to a waiter.

...

X _"Cocktail?" Patterson asked, waving to a waiter, and a tall glass garnished with a sprig of mint was set before her._

...

Moments later, a tall glass garnished with a sprig of mint was set before her. 

"How did you know I like Mojitos?" she asked.

"All women like Mojitos."

Hermione took a sip. It was delicious. "Thank you." She glanced around. "Are you sure you want to do this here?"

Patterson shrugged.

"Okay, then..." She took another sip. "Dealers," she said. "Magical and, especially, Muggle."

"I don't have any contact with dealers."

"Then where do you get your own supplies?"

"I'm allowed to buy direct from the wholesaler."

Hermione altered her angle of attack: "All I need is one link in the chain," she said. "Anything you might have seen..." She finished her cocktail. It was the best Mojito she'd had in a long while. " _Anything._ "

Patterson let out a breath. "All right," he said. "A couple of months ago, I went to a... _party_ —nothing to do with Bagshot, as it happens—and there was a Muggle there who was dealing _Intumesgro_ —using it, too, by the looks of him."

"What was his name?"

Patterson shrugged. "I didn't catch a name, but I did see him shagging Peony Musgrove. And, later on, the pair of them seemed to be having a threesome with one of the Greengrass girls."

"Which one?"

"The younger one, I think," he said. "Astoria." He nodded at her glass. "Shall I get you another?"

"Um... No, thank you." Hermione made a mental note of the women's names, and tried to get her thoughts in order. "Have _you_ ever bought anything at a party?"

"Just some Muggle shit—a white powder you sniff."

"Cocaine." Hermione's first concern was the magical potions, but she knew that Harry routinely co-operated with the Muggle police, so if she could get him a name... "Who sold it to you?"

Patterson shrugged. "Some Muggle."

Hermione sighed. She'd begun to feel restless again, and feverish, like she'd felt the previous night. She glanced up at Malfoy, still sitting on the balcony, and her body reacted to him so violently, it was almost painful. 

"I, um, I'm sorry," she said to Patterson. "I need to, um... Let's take a break for now, and... Well, we can carry on this afternoon."

She hurried out of the water and across the terrace and, by the time she entered the hotel lobby, she was running.

...

"What are you—?" 

Hermione shoved Malfoy back on his chair and, planting a knee either side of him, untied her belt and let her dressing robe fall open. 

"Bloody hell, Granger, what—"

"Everybody's doing it down there," she panted, "behind the arches, under the water... The place is full of it! I don't care what a jerk you are!" She gave up trying to unbutton his fly, and bellowed, " _Evanesco!_ " 

Malfoy's trousers vanished. "Oh, Granger, for fuck's sake!"

"My robe's protecting your modesty."

"It won't be, when we're going down to dinner! That's the second pair of trousers you've destroyed."

"You can wear your Auror breeches." She attacked his mouth with quick, savage kisses. "God, you look _sexy_ in your Auror breeches..."

He pulled away from her. "I'm not built for quickies, Granger."

"I don't care!—I'm so ready for you!" She seized his cock. "I'll be on top. And if it is too painful, I'll just give you a blow job, and then you can carry me into the bedroom and do that lovely thing with your finger..."

...

"Ah—ah— _ohhh, fuuuuuuuuuck_!" 

Hermione felt Malfoy's hips start to rise as his body prepared to empty itself, and she came up on her knees with him, to avoid being hurt.

"Mmmmmm," he sighed blissfully, when he'd finished. "It's so good to be the one being fucked for a change..." 

He opened his eyes and, smiling, brought his hand down between them, and gently stroked Hermione's clit with his thumb. "You okay, Granger?"

"Yes." She leaned in, and kissed his cheek. Her body was glowing—just feeling him inching himself inside her, just looking down at him and seeing all that length, too much for her to take, had been enough to make her come like she was being _Cru_...

" _Good god, Malfoy, what am I doing?_ " she cried, pulling away from him. "I'm supposed to be an Auror! I need to get back to work!" 

She climbed off his lap, but he was in such a delicious state—all flushed and sweaty, and soft but still swollen—she couldn't help herself. She dropped to her knees and allowed herself one long, final kiss...

At last, she dragged herself away—"I've got to go!"—and headed for the shower.

"You're a prick tease, Granger," he called after her.

"It's _foreplay_ when you're on a promise, Malfoy," she replied.

...

"Sorry about that," she said, rejoining Patterson at the bar. 

"I've changed my mind," he said.

"What? I don't understand."

"The deal's off. I want you to leave. Now."

" _Now?_ But... Um, well, let me talk to my partner," she said.

...

"What did he give you to drink?" said Malfoy, craning his head back to avoid her kisses.

"Drink?" Hermione switched her attention to his fly. He wasn't wearing his charm, and she made short work of his buttons, but his cock was trapped down one leg of his trousers and, no matter how hard she tried, there no way she could get it out—

" _OW!_ Stop it!" Malfoy caught her hands. "And don't you _dare_ vanish these—they're raw silk! Listen to me! I saw Patterson give you a drink earlier. What was it?"

Hermione sat back on her heels. "Just a Mojito..."

"A _Mojito_?" 

She nodded. 

"You do realise," he said, obviously knowing that she didn't, "that every time you've had one of those things, you've pounced on me immediately afterwards?" He brought her hands to his chest and held them there. "I'm thinking that Patterson's used one of his potions on you. Maybe he bribed a waiter..."

Hermione stared down at him. She was having trouble thinking of anything other than getting him inside her, but she was still too bright to fail to make the connection: " _Faminentia!_ " she said.

"The sex-hunger potion."

"But he said he didn't have any..." She tried to think it through. "And he hasn't touched me, Malfoy—"

"No, he's used me to do all the fucking for him!" 

"—and he's a seducer," Hermione continued. "The type that keeps a diary of his conquests. Why would he..."

Their eyes met, and Hermione said, "Because, for some reason, he wanted me out of the way."

"He realised he was being watched."

"And now he says the deal's off. He wants us to leave."

Malfoy nodded, as though that was exactly what he'd been expecting. "Let's go and find out what he's up to, shall we?" he said, easing Hermione off his lap. 

He stood up, buttoned his fly, and cast his Glamour Charm.

" _Oh..._ " said Hermione. She was feeling sick and anxious, and physically sore—as though someone had spent an entire night using her roughly and giving her nothing in return. "Couldn't we have sex first, though?" she asked, hopefully.

"No," said Malfoy. "We've got to catch them at it, Granger."

...

"Watch and learn."

"That's the wrong suite," said Hermione, crossly. Her sexual frustration had become an alien, threatening to explode from her belly.

" _Shhhhh_ ," said Malfoy. 

Somehow—just by altering his posture—he appeared to have transformed himself into one of the hotel staff. He knocked on the door and waited, listening for a response.

"They're probably down in the spa," Hermione grumbled.

Malfoy nodded. He gave it a couple of moments more, then he brought out a set of lock picks and swiftly picked the lock. "Leaves less trace than magic," he explained, "if you know what you're doing."

"They always say you Hit Wizards are a law unto yourselves."

"I'm an Auror," he corrected, opening the door slowly and silently, like—Hermione supposed—a professional burglar.

"Then you've no excuse," she said, following him inside.

"You going to report me?" He quickly checked the bedrooms for lurking occupants.

"Depends..." Hermione considered the possible rewards of blackmail, for Malfoy's Glamour Charm might be obscuring his groin, but it was doing nothing to hide his arse, or his muscular thighs, or to erase the tantalising memory of their previous love-making... 

"God," she said, grimacing, "I do wish this stuff would wear off." 

Malfoy, meanwhile, had found a vantage point, just inside one of the arches that led to the balcony, and was paying out an Extendable Ear.

"Clever," Hermione admitted. She crouched down beside him.

"You really are an innocent, aren't you?" He manoeuvred the ear onto Patterson's balcony and, heads together, they listened. 

Someone in Patterson's suite was talking.

"It's _him_ ," Hermione whispered.

"I just needed a rest," Patterson's disembodied voice was whining; he sounded nervous. "Honestly. I've been swallowing that stuff every month for three years, _and_ having to shit it all out again." (Hermione felt sick). "My insides are _raw_ , and my nerves—you know how hard it is for me to cast a Sealing Charm—what if I get it wrong, and a batch of _Intumesgro_ dissolves inside me—"

"Then you'll be dying happy, flashing the old one-eyed monster at the ladies," said a second voice, callously.

Hermione turned to Malfoy; he'd already turned to her, and his eyes were wide. "It's Cormac McLaggen!" he whispered.

"It _can't_ be..." said Hermione.

"I just needed some quality time," Patterson was pleading, "to relax, and get my guts back in order."

"Bullshit," said McLaggen. "You're meeting with Granger and Malfoy."

"I'm not _meeting_ —not that sort of meeting. I was introduced to Hermione Granger at a party. I didn't even know Malfoy was here with her until you told me! Look, Granger fancies me! You should see her! She's all over me! She won't leave me alone!"

"She can't stand you." There was a new seriousness in McClaggen's voice, and Hermione and Malfoy exchanged worried glances. "Bagshot _knows_ you've made a deal with Potter, Patterson."

"What? No, honestly, I— _please!_ —"

Malfoy dumped the end of the Extendable Ear in Hermione's hand and took off. In four steps he'd crossed the balcony, leaped onto the rail, and launched himself into the air. 

Hermione scrambled to her feet and followed, reaching the balustrade just in time to see him disappear into Patterson's sitting room and to hear the uproar that ensued. There was no way she could leap the gap herself, and she knew she was in no state to Apparate. She ran back through the suite, out into the corridor, and hammered on Patterson's door.

Malfoy opened it. "The bastard Apparated," he said.

...

XI _"The bastard Apparated," said Malfoy._

...

Hermione pushed past him. Patterson was huddled on one of the couches, rocking back and forth.

"Are you all right?" she asked, examining him for spell damage. She looked up at Malfoy. "We need to take him back to the Ministry, straight away."

"No." Malfoy pulled her aside. "We don't need _Patterson_ any more," he said, quietly. "What we need is McLaggen."

Hermione frowned. "So...?"

Malfoy seemed to be thinking aloud: "We'll get Patterson moved into one of the Unplottable suites," he said.

"You told Harry you didn't know this place."

"Every millionaires' playground has Unplottable suites, Granger. Then, once we've got Patterson safely tucked away, we'll work on a plan to nick McLaggen."

...

XII _Malfoy was still too focussed on the case to be persuaded._

...

Malfoy was still too focussed on the case to be persuaded to have sex, so Hermione was forced to leave most of the thinking to him. 

He considered all sorts of possibilities but, in the end, the plan he settled on was simple: Hermione would take Patterson into one of the waterfalls and keep him there until McLaggen came back to kill him.

"You're absolutely _sure_ ," Hermione insisted, "that you'll be able to stun McLaggen?" 

"I'll wear shorts and lurk in the bar," Malfoy replied. "McLaggen'll be in much the same boat as me. He can't cast an _Avada_ from a distance, so he'll either have to go into the water and try to cast it wandlessly, or—more likely—he'll have to use his bare hands—"

"But, if he comes into the water..." Hermione made a decision: "I'm going to ask Harry for backup."

"No."

"We need backup, Malfoy."

"No! I'm willing to drop my shorts and follow McLaggen into the water if I have to, Granger, but I'm not going to do it in front of Potter and Weasley—don't look at me like that! You don't know what it's like to have a cock like mine; to have every—"

"I _know_ ," Hermione interrupted, icily, "that _your_ vanity's putting Patterson and me at risk."

"I'll be protecting you, woman!" Malfoy cried. Then he added, ingratiatingly, "Please, Granger. If Potter sees how I'm hung, I'll _never_ get to be one of his go-to Aurors; I'll just be the one with the enormous cock. And everyone in the Office'll be falling over themselves to corner me in the Gents', hoping to see it angry."

" _What?_ " 

"What d'you think it was like in France?"

"Men and their stupid _penises_!" said Hermione.

Malfoy's expression hardened. "Says the woman who keeps begging me for a fuck."

"Oh, you bastard!"

...

Lying beneath him with his glorious bulk between her legs—her body convulsing, her fingers clawing the bed sheets—Hermione stared up at Malfoy and felt his likeness sear itself into her orgasming brain.

In her desperation, she'd come the moment he'd begun to enter her and now, as her climax started to ebb away, she _knew_ that he was wrong, and that _she_ was never going to have her fill of him and go looking for Mr Average.

... 

Malfoy pulled out of her, and took hold of himself. 

Still trembling, Hermione watched him bring himself off, her pussy clenching in sympathy when he gave a sudden, strangled cry and his come began dripping on her belly.

 _Oh god_ , she thought, smearing it up her body and over her breasts, _I could die happy!_

She stretched out her arms to him and, after finishing with a final, satisfied grunt, Malfoy sank into them, laying his head in the crook of her neck.

"Things are getting really scary, Granger," he murmured.

...

" _Astoria?_ " 

"That's what he said."

"At an _orgy_?"

"Yes."

"Fucking hell!"

There was something in his voice that made Hermione curious: "What's the matter?"

Malfoy sighed. "My father's made an arrangement with her father."

"An arrangement? You mean an arranged marriage?"

"Don't start..."

"And it's never occurred to you," she said, mercilessly, "that all these women who dump you aren't really looking for Mr Average, they're just looking for a relationship with some sort of future?" She shook her head. "You're in no position to judge Astoria Greengrass, Mister I'm So Blessed In The Bedroom Department."

"I'm not judging Astoria—are you kidding me? If she really does go in for threesomes, I'm impressed! But Father will judge her! Merlin, will he judge her!"

"Only if you tell him about her," said Hermione. "If you still want to marry her, Malfoy, you just need to keep quiet... Oh _god_ "—she brought a hand up to cover her eyes—"that potion must have done me permanent damage, because I know what a jerk you can be, and I don't care. I'm not going to give you up without a fight."

"Good," said Malfoy, softly. Then, with his more usual swagger, he added: "And if it makes you feel any better, Granger, it was obvious you had the hots for me long before you swallowed that potion—you had the hots for me at _school_." 

With an effort, he got to his knees and straddled her, and—his cock already stiff again, but hanging heavily—he leaned in and, smiling, slowly kissed his way down her stomach, and—coaxing her to lift her hips—over her mound, shuffling backwards until he was lying between her legs.

Hermione felt his tongue on her clit...

"God, Malfoy," she gasped, "what are you _doing_?"

"Just giving you a little extra incentive," he replied.

...

...

"Ready?" he asked.

Hermione smiled, lazily. She had a lovely, bruised ache inside her, and dried semen in several very interesting places...

 _Perks of being his partner_ , she thought.

 _He_ was magnificent, and full of energy, and she could happily have spent the entire day playing with him, but she knew that her desire was... nothing more than desire; there was no longer any Dark magic in it. 

_Thank god! The Faminentia's worn off at last!_

Her mind was clear, and Malfoy's plan, though risky, made sense.

"Yes," she sighed. "Let's do it."

...

Patterson was still asleep. 

The mediwitch Malfoy had hired to keep an eye on him told them she'd given him a sleeping draught to keep him quiet. Malfoy ordered her to wake him up, and Hermione had the distasteful task of coaxing him out of bed and wrestling him into a dressing robe whilst Malfoy—every inch the former Hit Wizard, despite being dressed in nothing but an enormous pair of gaudy shorts—explained the plan.

"This isn't fair," Patterson protested. "You're supposed to be protecting me."

"And _you_ ," said Malfoy, getting right-up-close-and-personal, "were supposed to be giving _us_ enough evidence to put Bagshot in Azkaban for life. But, instead, you poisoned Auror Granger. D'you really think Head Auror Potter'll stick to your deal when he finds out what you did to his best friend? And how long d'you think you'd last in Azkaban?"

"I can put the slippers on myself," Patterson told Hermione.

...

"What're we supposed to do now?" Patterson whined as Hermione herded him into one of the waterfalls.

"Wait," she said.

"D'you fancy a cocktail?"

" _No I do not!_ "

"I didn't mean..."

Hermione scanned the crowded spa, her gaze naturally coming to rest on Malfoy, sitting in one of the bars.

With his striking looks and his pale, muscular torso, he looked like nothing more than the spoiled scion of some noble, pure-blood house, lounging indolently amongst his fellows, but Hermione knew that his looks were deceiving, for she had seen him in action, taking control of the mission when she'd been... incapacitated.

She smiled. 

She liked Malfoy—liked his intelligence, liked his physical courage, even liked his rather prickly personality—and she valued him as a partner.

 _And the sex_ , she thought, _is_...

The sex had, in point of fact, been magically induced, totally unprofessional, and undoubtedly a big mistake.

... _absolutely FABULOUS!_

She laughed.

"What?" said Patterson. "This is so _boring_."

Hermione fell back to earth with a bump.

"I spy," she said, "with my little eye..."

...

Her first inkling that something was happening came from a tiny change in Malfoy's posture. Over Patterson's shoulder, she quickly surveyed the pools.

"He's here, isn't he?"

"Stay calm."

" _What?_ " Patterson was already on the verge of panic. "You're not the one he's come to kill!"

"Step back into the waterfall," said Hermione. "There's a recess in the rock."

"You think that'll shield me from his curses?"

"I think it's your best chance."

Patterson disappeared behind the rushing water, leaving Hermione—heaving a sigh of relief—free to face the threat at Malfoy's side. She'd already started towards him when, following the direction of his gaze, she spotted a blond head lurking behind a row of Roman arches and, cautiously, she inched back towards the waterfall instead.

...

XIII _Cautiously, Hermione inched back towards the waterfall._

...

She heard a ripple of gasps spread round the pool—somewhere, someone had started clapping—and, instinctively, she looked to Malfoy, and saw that he had stripped off his shorts and was striding across the marble pavement, and that people were nudging each other and pointing. Their excitement grew louder and louder, until the hubbub reached McLaggen's ears, and Hermione saw his head turn.

She saw him recognise Malfoy!

She looked back to her partner, and realised that, all along, she'd been expecting something to _happen_ when he entered the water—expecting the pagan god to favour his human likeness, to possess him and transform him in some way—but Malfoy was just wading through the water like anyone else and, the moment it hid his penis, most of the crowd lost interest in him.

Malfoy's eyes met hers, and he inclined his head towards McLaggen, and Hermione immediately understood what he wanted her to do. 

She took a deep breath and slipped, unseen, beneath the water, and—whilst Malfoy was holding his attention—she swam silently past McLaggen and rose up behind him—just a fraction of a second too late—as, pointing his hand at Malfoy, he shot a red-hot Maiming Curse across the water...

Malfoy disappeared beneath the surface.

...

XIV _Malfoy disappeared beneath the surface._

...

"NOOOOOO!" screamed Hermione. Then, " _PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!_ "

Her wandless Body-Bind Curse, cast with every ounce of fury she possessed, hit McLaggen squarely in the back, and he keeled over, and fell beneath the waters. His own curse, which had been ricocheting round the spa, multiplying every time it touched the water, immediately vanished.

Ignoring the shouts of alarm from the spa's patrons, and the Auror training that was insisting she should first secure her prisoner, Hermione dived into the water and searched frantically for Malfoy, getting more and more panicky, until her partner suddenly broke the surface in front of her, gasping for breath but clearly unharmed.

"Oh god, Malfoy, I'm so sorry," Hermione cried, ducking under his arm to support him, and rubbing his back as he coughed and spluttered. "I was too late!" 

"Better late... than never," he gasped.

Hermione wanted desperately to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight but, "I, um, I think we'd better find McLaggen," she said.

Moments later, they were hauling their prisoner, rigid but still alive, up to the surface. 

...

"Would you mind loosening him up a bit, Granger?" said Malfoy—almost his old self again—as they towed McLaggen back towards the hotel. "We'll need to lock him up whilst we deal with all this crap"—nobody appeared to have been hurt by McLaggen's curse, but patrons were complaining loudly, and the spa's manager was waiting for them at the edge of the pool—"and it'll be much easier if we can walk him rather than levitate him. We should probably put Patterson back into protective custody as well..."

...

...

"Granger..."

_Malfoy?_

They'd taken McLaggen and Patterson back to the Office, and Hermione had returned to the suite to pack up their things whilst Malfoy dealt with the paperwork. She remembered sitting down on the bed, and then... 

_I must have closed my eyes for a moment._

"Granger?"

"What time is it?" she asked, yawning.

"Almost five."

"Five? In the _morning_?"

"And the water's deserted."

" _Water?_ "

She looked up at Malfoy. He was brimming with a barely-contained excitement, which—coupled the fact that he wasn't wearing his Glamour Charm...

...

The great, glass dome was filled with a light so pale and intense it seemed to be thrumming with the promise of new beginnings. Hermione watched Malfoy shrug off his dressing robe and throw it aside, and—feet spread and hips thrust forward—stretch out his arms, as though to greet the dawn... 

Suddenly, the pagan god seemed to possess her, filling her with a lust that was as much primitive piety as desire—it was magic but, this time, it was _sacred_ magic. She slipped out of her own robe and hurried to Malfoy. 

Without a word, he lifted her into his arms and carried her down the steps and into the swirling waters of the nearest cascade, where he set her down, and she—trembling as the magic pummelled her body—turned in his arms and, with her back to him, bent over the enchanted rocks, and offered herself to him. 

...

XV _She offered herself to him._

...

Malfoy gripped her waist and, slick with the water's magic, slipped inside her.

Hermione cried out, for his size was overwhelming, but—oh!—it was beautiful and, if there was any pain at all it was only adding to the intensity of her pleasure. _His_ answering shout—of surprise, and joy, and throaty triumph—seemed to take her to the very edge, and then the pagan magic held her there, shuddering on the verge of orgasm, as Malfoy thrust with long, deep stokes, in and out of her, in and out of her, his sobs mingling with her sobs as his body dominated and yet worshipped hers...

"Oh god," she wept, because it was almost _too_ much to bear. "Oh god, Malfoy..."

...

XVI _"Did I hurt you?" he asked, softly._

...

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, softly.

Hermione shook her head.

She felt his lips, feather-light, brush her neck, felt the sparks run down her spine and ignite, deep in her core, felt her heart clench as, with hands and thighs, Malfoy eased her into their next coupling. 

"I've never felt," he told her "so— _ah_ —so completely _inside_ a woman before..."

Hermione reached behind her and, pulling his head down, kissed him. "It's the Horned God's blessing... love," she said.

...

...

**Epilogue**

"Open your eyes," said Hermione. She had booked suite 203 at the Green Mansions Spa, and had brought Malfoy there—in the early hours of the morning—by Side-Along-Apparition. "Happy six months' anniversary!"

She watched him look about him, realise where he was, and smile. 

"Do you want go straight into the waters?" she asked, excitedly. "They'll be empty now."

Malfoy's smile broadened. "Merlin, Granger," he said, "I'm your favourite sex toy." 

"Are you complaining?"

His smile turned wicked. " _Finite Incantatem_ ," he replied. Then, with a flourish of his wand, " _Evanesco!_ "

"Ah," said Hermione. "Just _bragging_."

...

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to whoever wrote this prompt! The setting it suggested excited me at least as much as the kink, and set the tone of the story (and the look of the illustrations), which is sort of Mills & Boon with pr0n. 
> 
> The most famous spring in Britain is at Bath and, coincidentally, I'd just seen a documentary about the site's archaeology, which I plundered for ideas. In reality, the Celtic Horned God, Cernunnos, was never, as far as I can tell, associated with the Roman god Priapus but it fitted the story nicely, and I love the image of Priapus from the House of the Vettii in Pompeii (which you can just see in illustration III). The face in the end banner is the Horned God.
> 
> The figure in the title banner _is_ Tom Felton (he's actually wearing shorts, and was carrying his guitar, which I had to paint out), but the figure in illustrations VIII, IX and XV is computer generated—you, um, enter the required dimensions, click the button, and hey presto! In line with the prompt, I made Draco 'THAT big': 9.9 inches flaccid and 11.9 inches erect with a girth of 7.2 inches.


End file.
